


The Douchiest

by golden_gardenias



Series: Gallavich Week 2014 [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Gallavich Week, Jealous!Mickey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_gardenias/pseuds/golden_gardenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If that douchebag comes to Ian for a lap-dance one more time, heads will roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Douchiest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gallavich Week 2014 Day 3: Jealousy. Originally published on Tumblr 6/18/14.

Chris was pouring a margarita for another customer when Mickey approached the bar.

“You’re la-ate,” he teased in a sing-song voice.

“Bite me,” Mickey growled.

Chris sniggered and started mixing Mickey’s usual, Jack Daniel’s and orange juice.  “Ian’s shift started  _hours_  ago.  You’re losing your touch, tough guy.”

“Fuck off, I had to take care of something important,” Mickey said gruffly, taking a swig of his drink.

Chris put a hand to his chest.  “More important than ensuring Ian’s sacred cock is safe?” he asked mockingly.

Mickey glared at him.  “Fuck you.”

Chris frowned.  “Ouch.  Who pissed in your Cheerios, Mr. Grumpy Gills?”

“My fucking wife, that’s who.”

“Really?  Didn’t peg Ian for a mistress.”

Mickey snorted.  “Are you kidding?  He’s only ever been a mistress, ever since he lost his virginity.”

Chris glanced over to where Ian was giving lap dances and cocked his head to the side.  “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

Mickey turned his body to follow Chris’s eyes, and his expression closed off at the sight of Ian straddling some guy’s lap and grinding into him.  “He’s got a pretty big crowd tonight,” he remarked offhandedly.

“Yup, he sure does.  That’s what happens when you don’t show up for three hours.”

Mickey snapped his head back to Chris.  “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

Chris smirked.  “When Daddy’s away, the kids will play.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes at him.  “The fuck does that even  _mean_ , man?”

Chris rolled his eyes.  “They didn’t see the big bad wolf ready to blow them away—and not in the positive, life-affirming way, mind you—so they figured it would be okay to try and get some of that sacred cock we were discussing earlier.”

“Me not being here doesn’t change the fact that he’s taken,” he said hotly.

“I know that and you know that, but—well they probably know it too, but the point is, you weren’t here to turn them away, and the fact that you’re always keeping them away from him makes him  _insanely_  popular.”

“Really.  How do you figure that?”

“He’s got the whole ‘forbidden fruit’ thing going on.  Not to mention he’s the sexiest redhead I’ve ever seen.” Chris began fanning himself in jest.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“I’m serious!  Your whole ‘protect The Cock’ schtick is making him practically irresistible.  Business has been  _booming_  tonight, my friend.  He’s danced for practically every guy here.”  He leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper, “Some more than once.”

He laughed at the look on Mickey’s face.

“Oh here’s another repeat performance now!”

“Don’t point,” Mikey snapped, turning to watch.

The guy was tall, had longish brown hair, broad shoulders, and a tight black t-shirt on to accentuate his biceps.  He smiled lasciviously at Ian before running a finger down his chest, pulling at his shorts, and dropping a bill there.  Mickey’s fingers twitched at the snap of the elastic.

“What’s his name?” he asked Chris, voice hard.

“Not sure.  But he does look kinda douchey, right?”

“The douchiest,” Mickey deadpanned.

“Which is douchier, Derek, Peter, or Clay?”

“You kiddin’ me?  Clay, definitely Clay, man.  Is that even a question?”

“Yeah, you’re totally right.  Anyway, ‘Clay’ over there has come back for more about seven times now.”

Mickey turned to face him quickly, eyebrows shooting up his forehead.  “Seriously?  _Seven times_?”

Chris shrugged.  “Give or take a couple.  Might be eight, I stopped bothering to keep track after five.”

Mickey clenched his jaw, turning back to watch Ian service Clay.  He seemed to be talking to him, and his hands were settled comfortably on Ian’s hips.

“Isn’t there a rule about touching?”  Mickey asked through clenched teeth.

“Probably,” Chris answered distractedly, pouring someone a drink.  “I’ve never danced before, I’m not sure.”

Clay was running his hands up and down Ian’s back.  When they reached down to cup his ass, Mickey stood abruptly, intent on going over, but Ian slid off of him and began making his way to the bar.  “I’ll be back in twenty, guys!” he called over his shoulder.

Mickey watched Clay watch his ass as he walked.

“Hey,” Ian greeted him, smiling.  His shorts were practically overflowing with bills.

“Hey.  Good night?”

He shrugged.  “I guess.  Don’t know why the suddenly decided I’m the hottest thing here, though.”

“It’s because you are, you idiot.  Other than me, of course,” Chris quipped, handing him a water bottle.  “You look beat.”

“Been dancing practically nonstop since I got here,” he replied, taking a few gulps.  “Here,” he said, fishing money out of his shorts and handing it to Mickey.  “Can you hold onto this?”

“Sure.”  He started sorting through and counting, eyes getting wider as he went.  “Jesus, Ian, this is like 700 bucks!”

“What?  Are you serious?”

“It’s $25 a dance, and that one douche kept coming back for more,” Chris pointed out.

“Oh yeah, him,” Ian said derisively.  “Kept trying to get me to come to the backroom with him.  Said he’d ‘really make it worth my while.’  Asshole.”

“The money’s still green, no matter where it comes from,” Chris said.

They both glared at him.  “Alright, alright, backing away now,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.

They went back to counting Ian’s money.  “Someone paid you with a hundred, man,” Mickey said, pulling the bill out of the pile.

“No shit!  Hope he doesn’t want change.”

“You can keep it,” a voice said from behind them.

They turned to see Clay standing there, smirking.

“Sorry, Guy, I’m on a break,” Ian pointed out.

A loud snort from a few feet away drew their attention.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but—” Chris stopped to laugh, “ _Guy_?  Your name is actually  _Guy_?  Christ, that’s even douchier than Clay!  Bravo sir, bravo.”

“Jesus, Chris, do you even really work here, or do you just get paid to stand behind the bar and talk?” someone called from down the bar.

Chris turned to his complainant.  “I’ll be right there, Martin.  Hold your fuckin’ horses,” he called as he walked over.

Mickey turned to Guy.  “Excuse you, but do you fucking mind?  He’s taking a break.”

Guy wrote him off.  “You can blow him later.  Right now Curtis and I have business,” he said, running his hand along Ian’s thigh.

“You wanna move that hand before you lose it?” Mickey asked darkly.  Ian swatted it away.

Guy plowed on, undeterred.  “What does the hundred get me?” he asked, holding it between two fingers and bringing it to Ian’s face.

“If you take it outside I’m sure it’ll get you lots of things.  Unfortunately it’s no good here,” Ian said.

“Come on, don’t be like that.  I know you’ve done it before, you who—” he grabbed Ian’s hips again, and then suddenly he was on the floor.

Mickey had punched him before he could finish his sentence.

He was on his back, clutching his nose.  Mickey stood over him, putting a foot on his chest.  “Two things.  One: don’t ever call him a whore again.  Two: _don’t_ ”—kick in the balls— “ _fucking_ ”—kick in the ribs—“ _touch him_.  If I see you trying to get a dance with him again, I’ll cut off your balls, put them in a blender, and give you a smoothie.  Got it?”

Guy nodded, face screwed up in pain.

“Good.  Get the fuck out.”

A bouncer made his way over.  “It’s fine, Jerry,” Ian said.  “Guy was just leaving.”  Jerry nodded and picked him up by his collar.  “Thanks!”

“No problem,” he returned.

They heard a whistle from behind them.  Chris was there, standing with his arms folded across his chest.  “You two sure know how to put on a show,” he remarked.

“Fuck off,” Mickey shot at him.

Chris put his hands up again.  “Backing away, don’t worry.”

Ian put his hand on Mickey’s shoulder, but he shook it off.  “Mick?” he asked tentatively.

“Outside,” he said shortly.

Ian followed him wordlessly out the back, dread settling in his stomach.

As soon as the door closed, he started on him.  “You fucked guys for money?” he asked flatly.

Ian sighed.  “Sometimes for drugs.  Mostly they fucked me.”  Mickey flinched.  “Or they would make me blow them.”

“ _Make you_?  Jesus  _Christ_ , Ian.”

“I was in a bad place, Mick,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.  Fucking manic and coked out your ass.   _Fuck_.”  His voice broke on the expletive.  “You don’t—you haven’t—”

“No,” Ian answered.  “I haven’t.”

Mickey leaned against the wall and scrubbed his hands over his face.  “Christ,” he muttered.

They stood silently for a few moments before Mickey asked, “You been to a clinic?”

Ian furrowed his brows.  “What for?”

“To get fucking tested, dumbass.  Did they use condoms or not?”

He shifted uncomfortably.  “I—I don’t really remember.”

“Course you don’t.  Shit.  We’re going tomorrow, alright?”  Ian nodded.  “Did you ever share needles with anyone?”

“Never did anything you needed needles for.”

“What about that tat?  The needle clean for that?”

“It was at a legit parlor, Mickey.  It was clean.”

“Good.”

The silence stretched on for about two minutes before Ian broke it.  “I’m sorry, Mickey.  I’m so fucking sorry,” he sniffed.

MIckey was surprised at his tears.  “No, fuck, don’t cry,” he said, rubbing his arms and holding his wrists.  “Look, man, I just…I just want you to be okay, alright?  I need you to be okay.”

Ian nodded, wiping his eyes.  “God, I’m worse than Karen.”

“Nah, you’ll have to do a lot more to reach her level, man.  You’ve got a long way to go.”

They chuckled, and Ian pressed their foreheads together.  “You gotta stop working here,” Mickey blurted out suddenly.

“I know.  But we need the money.”

“Fuck the money.  Go back to the Kash and Grab.  We’ll start scamming married guys again if we have to.”

Ian nodded, smiling.  “Okay.  Sounds like a plan.”

Someone knocked on the door they’d come out of.  “Five minutes, guys.”

“We don’t have to go back in if you don’t want to,” Mickey said.

Ian sighed.  “I’ll finish tonight’s shift and then I’ll tell them I quit.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  This isn’t really me anyway.”

Mickey’s shoulders sagged in relief.  “ _Finally_.  You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, shoving his shoulder a bit.  “Hey, you think I could work the Rub ‘n’ Tug?  Gotta be a few homos who want in on this.”

Mickey glared at him.  “That’s not fucking funny, dude.”

“You mean you don’t want to be my pimp, Mickey?”

“Shut the fuck up, man, and get inside.”

Ian laughed, and Mickey couldn’t help but smile at him.  As long as Ian was laughing, he would be okay.

Mickey would make sure of it.


End file.
